Bound
by Mazeem
Summary: Merlin lies awake and fumes. Stupid Arthur. He doesn't like Morgana in that way, it's just his magic, that's all! Problem is, that's a lot of 'all'. Magic likes magic, you see.


It was late. Merlin hadn't been paying much attention to the passage of time as he lay on his bed in the gathering dark, but it was hard not to notice when Gaius started snoring. He had been tactfully silent when Merlin had come in without the flowers that he had left with, an irritated expression and more than usual curses of Arthur on his lips. This was just as well, because Merlin had been fully prepared to complain for _hours_.

He didn't have a crush on Morgana, for goodness sake. Arthur was wrong as usual - and honestly, like Arthur knew a thing about girls! No, it wasn't a crush. It was, he had decided at last as his eyes grew heavy, magic. You know. Because the stuff didn't make his life complicated enough already.

Magic liked magic. That was really all there was to it, especially Merlin's magic that had been isolated for so long. Of course, there had been Gaius to keep his magic company once he reached Camelot. But Gaius hadn't practised magic for decades (and Merlin privately wondered how good he had been even in his heyday) so being near Gaius at the rare moments when he used his magic was something like being nudged with a blunt, worn-down sword. Friendly and caring but steel-cored and hard to notice by design.

So his heart raced and his breath caught when he saw Morgana; not over her perfect figure, white skin and glossy hair, but over the spark of gold in her eyes that now glimmered just below the surface. If Gaius was an ancient sword, Morgana ... she was fire.

When she had come to him that night, crying and distressed but angry with it, demanding and begging for help, had she known that all her unconscious defences were down for the first time in her life? Of course not, Merlin chided himself, but _oh_, how he had known. He would never forget it; could still feel it now, smashing into him like a tidal wave and threatening to drag every scrap of awareness into the seething undertow. Golden magic with threads entwined as dark as her hair, probing his magic with all the desperation of Morgana herself. Hello, it was screaming, can you hear me? Skill-brother, beyond-blood-brother,_ I feel you_.

Yes, Merlin had whispered in his head as his knees wobbled. Yes. I hear you.

It had never taken more self-control to reign in his magic than it had then. He wanted to kiss her, to make the solid wooden table levitate, to make _her_ levitate - while still kissing her? Maybe. To do anything and everything that acknowledged who he was and who she was and this connection that was suddenly just ... there.

It was dangerous beyond belief to even think this. A servant and the king's ward. He would be under death orders the second that Uther found out (if, his magic insisted, if) and he would let the gibbet take him willingly for being so bloody stupid. His destiny was to protect Arthur and he was sure that he wouldn't manage that very well with his brain addled from the magic sex, magic drug, whatever it was that happened when two achingly lonely teenage magics met unexpectedly. There were ways of shutting that part of his mind, he was certain - though if it was a matter of self-control he was dead. Ways of severing the connection.

Still. The little room had never felt so big and he had rarely felt so alone as he pondered the necessary cut.

When he finally slept, he dreamt of dark eyes, dark hair, golden magic and leaping flames. Her laugh. But then, because magic was so often more of a curse than a blessing (he thought it was she who Saw!) another magic intruded, presented to him in a way that he somehow knew to be more than the products of an exhausted body and hyperactive mind. A quiet green woodland pool in a glade. A film of weed covering its utterly unknown depths. Floating in the background, a high, terrified shout of Old magic.

Merlin awoke and lay in the growing dawn light, knowing he needed to get up and go to Arthur but wasting time wondering why he felt sad, jealous and resigned all at the same time.

* * *

Um. This was supposed to be shorter and to make more sense. Well, it's not even slightly slash. That's got to be good for variety.

All opinions welcome!

xMazx


End file.
